


Push Me Over A Cliff Into A Chasm Of Chrysanthemums

by RollerJason



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Dream Dies, Emotional Hurt, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, I am so sorry, I made things very vague on purpose, Other, Spoilers past this tag, grief practice, it is meant to be, so sorry if it is confusing, the underlined stuff at the end is a grave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:01:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29003385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RollerJason/pseuds/RollerJason
Summary: "They’re running. Armored boots pounding against the dirt and cobble. George grips the glowing purple sword tighter in his palm.The jangling sound of bones rings behind him and he peaks back. Several skeletons, some adorned in loose armor, chase after them erratically. Arrows notched in bows and aiming somehow perfectly in their hollow disarray.'Keep moving!' Shouts quackity from beside him. His small golden wings are flapping despite doing nothing to lift him off the ground."Or:George loses someone very dear to him and he goes through grief and mourning.(Notes! they are important!!!)
Relationships: Awesamdude & Georgenotfound, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Kudos: 19





	Push Me Over A Cliff Into A Chasm Of Chrysanthemums

**Author's Note:**

> I AM SO SORRY- I keep dishing out sad shit and #MajorCharacterDeath and I swear the next fic I have in line is much less depressing.
> 
> On a more serious note; Three things, 1, I made Dream and George's relationship as ambiguous as possible so you could see it going platonic or romantic which brings me to 2, their relationship isn't the main focus even if it is a big part. I focused on the grieving mostly. And 3, Dream/Clay has not died in real life, this is just fiction. Stay safe. :D
> 
> That is about it, Enjoy!
> 
> ~RollerJason <3

They’re running. Armored boots pounding against the dirt and cobble. George grips the glowing purple sword tighter in his palm.

The jangling sound of bones rings behind him and he peaks back. Several skeletons, some adorned in loose armor, chase after them erratically. Arrows notched in bows and aiming somehow perfectly in their hollow disarray. 

“Keep moving!” Shouts quackity from beside him. His small golden wings are flapping despite doing nothing to lift him off the ground.

“Shit.” Dream curses from in front of them.

George thrusts his shield to block an arrow. “What?” He questions.

Dream jumps over a fallen log, “There’s a cliff up ahead, but we can’t go any other-” He cuts himself off to slash at a skeleton at his side, “Direction!”

Cursing to himself, George guesses that they all come to the same mutual agreement to just keep moving until one of them figures something out.

In the meantime, they cut and stab at rattling bones and block and redirect flying arrows. They manage to whittle down the herd to only a few skeletons but they are low on health and sweating and still aren’t fully in the clear so they keep running.

The floor turns to gravel and George nearly slips from the rolling pebbles. In his stumble he almost misses the white arrow that wizzes towards him in the open clearing of the cliff. In a split second, and out of pure instinct, George uses the flat of his blade to push the back and into the grass nearby.

In a heat of adrenaline, George turns to face Dream again.

He watches in terror as a skeleton he hadn’t seen previously releases it’s magically held together hand from a feathered arrow end. He stills as, seemingly in slow motion, the pointed stick shoots through the air to land and puncture and tear right through the dirty green of his best friend’s hoodie, right at his heart.

Like he is in a world where air is molasses, he scrambles to the edge where Dream is and reaches out the hand unaccompanied by his sword. Dream’s eyes are wide as he reaches his own hand out.

Fear rips George’s heart to shreds when their fingertips brush, but only brush as Dream falls over the edge.

George’s world goes completely lost to him, not even hearing the shouts and slashes of Quackity from behind him, as he looks down into the chasm of red chrysanthemums littering the valley below. The emerald of his friend melts into the crimson of the flowers.

He knows he can’t see green or red and yet the blood that seeps into Dream’s jacket is too prominent not to notice.

Dream, laying still in a soft bed of cherry red, arrow sticking straight up through his chest.

Round, white ceramic smile hidden face-down next to him.

__________

  
  


George stands there, atop a cliff.

The gravel, finally still without the movement of feet, makes no noise. Wind blows hard as if daring him to follow.

He doesn’t.

A clank sounds out and he is too busy staring to notice his netherite sword has fallen to the ground by his boots. The sky is a vibrant blue, scattered clouds. 

He feels mocked.

His body follows his sword, limbs limp and heavy as he too collapses to the ground. The small rocks scrape his knees.

He doesn’t care.

He doesn’t want to go when someone grabs at his arms and forces him up to walk even though his legs feel like lead. He doesn’t like how the ceramic mocks him with glee. He doesn’t care for the beautiful flowers littering the bright green grass that tickles at his ankles as he's pulled away from the edge.

There are no tears. There are no heart wrenching sobs that fill the air only to be whisked away by the breeze. There are no words or actions or anything that can describe the pain that fills his entire body. From the soft hairs on his head to his feet that drag on the cobble floor.

__________

  
  


He doesn’t know how long it takes for him to be guided away from the mountain but he figures it must have taken a while since he vaguely registers the wood floors of his home as he is placed in a chair.

Someone, new from the former that pulled him away, places something in his lap. The thing smiles up at him and George’s tears fall, cascading like a waterfall but deadly quiet. The sad things fall on the white clay, dripping down the sides and pooling in the black, dirt-caked carvings of dots. They make it look like it’s crying and George’s lips quirk ever so slightly despite the overwhelming hurt feeling that pulls on his face, like gravity hates him.

It does hate him and George’s smile falls like his tears.

__________

  
  


It’s no secret George is colorblind but his friends swear he will go actually blind if he stares at the glowing white of the comms tablet any more. He should probably take their advice, he thinks in hopeless gasps. His vision is blurry, and has been blurry for weeks. Though they all, even if they don’t say it, know that the real reason is the watery-ness in his eyes and not the bright screen.

His scrolling finger stops, hovering, as he reads the small print on screen.

(Dream: George, go look in your chest)

(Georgenotfound: ???)

(Dream: Look, I got you something)

(Georgenotfound: Oooo I love it, thank you!)

(Dream: Of course <3)

George’s tears break from his eyes and down his face. Hic-uping, quiet sobs leave his throat as he grips at the round goggles hanging at his teal shirt.

“Dream…”

__________

  
  


_ Ding! _

George doesn’t answer the door. He knows who it is and if it isn’t them then the person will just leave. Besides, he really doesn’t want to see anyone right now.

He hears the creaking of the door from his upstairs room.  _ Damn _ . Determined but soft footsteps echo through the halls of his home before his door opens. George stares at the black haired man standing in his doorway from where he is sitting on his bed.

“George.” Sapnap speaks. There is a rasp in his voice that George recognizes as more than usual.

George gives a slow blink and a pat to his sheets, inviting.

Sapnap takes up his offer and makes his way over to the too small bed and sits down next to George, knees touching.

It’s silent for the most part. There is still the whirring of the potion stand and the quiet song of birds, but still silent. 

The bed squeaks at the same time a head drops to his shoulder. Usually, George would have shoved the younger man off with fake disgust, but sorrow is heavy in his heart and he knows the one he lost would want them to get along. So, he lowers his own head so it rests against Sapnap’s. 

The action makes them both pull a sad face and before they know it they are hugging, holding each other tight for fear of losing anyone else. 

The green hoodie George adorns becomes soaked with tears.

“I miss him so much, George.”

“...I do too…”

__________

  
  


“Wait!”

George doesn’t wait, he’s furious and determined and  _ how dare they do that! _

Mud coating the ground makes it harder to walk but George will not stop until he reaches  _ that fucking mountain. _

An arm shoots out and blocks him as his friend comes to stand in front of him. His face, half covered with a green bandana, still showing panic.

“George! I’m telling you, you don’t want to see it, it won’t help any!” Sam says, emotions evident in his voice as always. White irises on black eyes pleading with him.

George is furious though so reasoning is long gone. He glares at him with so much rage that Sam takes a few steps back. “I’m going, Sam. I’m cleaning up whatever  _ fucking _ mess they made.”

Sam seems to realize that he can’t stop George no matter what he says, judging by his wide eyes and shrinking form. As soon as George feels that his friend won’t stop him anymore, he marches straight past him and sets off back up the rain battered path.

The stone comes into view and George slows his pace so much, he’d be lucky to call it walking.

It’s covered in paint, so red it hurts his eyes and he’s not even sure how that works because he can’t see red and now there are tears and  _ why did they build this here and why does it still hurt so much. _

He falls to his knees in front of it, so similar to that day all those months ago. His hand reaches out, touching the curve of the hard rock. Moss, so small, tickles at his fingers. The paint is cruel, mocking, savage and awful and George manages to bite his jaw hard with anger through all the hurt.

Why, crosses his mind and he doesn’t know. He assumes though, that it isn’t for any good reason because this world has not been kind to him for a while. The paint seeps down and flows through his fingers. It looks like blood and water and his tears meld with the rain.

Small jewels, emeralds Sapnap picked out, don’t glint at him in the dark weather. The stone is cold and wet and the clouds that pour down on him block the sun and George can’t help but feel like the sky is finally reflecting him.

__________

  
  


The scratching of a quill is comforting. The crackling of a fire is quiet and subdued. George huddles further into the soft fabric of the blanket draped around him.

He’s sketching. It was something he used to do often, before the wars and the fighting and when it was just him and Sapnap and Dream in the community house.

George remembers on one particularly mellow evening, years ago, they were just hanging out and enjoying each other’s company.

_ “Whatcha’ drawing, Georgie?” _

_ George looked up. A white, smiley face mask was pushed to the side of his blond friend’s head, revealing curious green eyes. _

_ “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He teased Dream, going back to making marks on the parchment, careful to position it away from his best friend’s prying eyes. _

_ “George!” Dream whined, dragging out the end. George peaked a glance and watched him dramatically fall to hang off his own chair’s arm. _

_ He giggled at the man’s antics and playfully flicked his forehead. “Fine,” he said, also dragging out his words, “You get three guesses!” _

_ This seemed to intrigue Dream just as George meant it to, telling by the slight bouncing he had as he sat up, hands in his lap. “Oh, oh, okay!” _

_ George waited for his first guess by sketching a few more lines. He didn’t need a reference for this drawing. _

_ “Is it flowers? Or a flower?” _

_ “Nope.” He grinned, “Try again.” _

_ “Hmm… Is it Sap?” _

_ George sputtered, “Pfft- No, but you’re getting close though.” From the other side of the room, Sapnap gave a noise of offence as he shuffled through chests.  _

_ “One more guess.” George said, scribbling two black dots with his quill. _

_ “Is it me?!” Dream said with an excitement that made butterflies flutter in George’s stomach. _

_ “Yes,” He confirmed softly, “It’s you.”  _ It’s always you.

_ “HA, yes!” Dream cheered, shooting his hands in the air happily. _

George smiles, eyes watery. The fire pops rudely. He looks up across the room at a framed drawing. Alive eyes stare at nothing and yet bore into his skull, looking past him at the mending soul behind his healing exterior. A paper colored mask sits still to the side of the head in the picture.

It matches the one George was handed nearly a year and a half ago as he sat in disbelief.

A tear rolls down his smile-lifted cheek.

He misses him so much.

__________

  
  


George feels a steady hand grasp his own. He squeezes it and it squeezes back.

The trail there is familiar. Melancholy is in the soft earth that they step on. Grief is laced through the trees like the fairy lights there that light the path at night. Mourning is in George and Sapnap as they make their way to the small clearing overlooking the red flower bed far below the jut of the mountain.

George’s footsteps fall silent when he stops in front of the headstone covered in moss. Sapnap’s follow.

They sink to the floor slowly, sitting on their knees, hands still clasped. They are there like that for a while, just wallowing in emotions and untold jokes and fond memories. George thinks he hears Sapnap say a few words but his subconscious drowns them out knowing they aren’t for him. He does his best to encourage though, rubbing small circles into his friend’s hand.

The wind is calmer than it was that day five years ago. It isn’t mocking anymore, only soothing, gentle as it plays with his hair.

He vaguely registers Sapnap’s voice disappear, carried by the breeze to be dropped off to the person he’s aiming them at. George takes the opportunity to cease the chisling of swirls in his friend’s palm to brush his fingers across the carving in the stone. The words there are ones he never wishes to see yet plague him in spirit and in body, whether he’s looking at them or not.

Two green emeralds shine at him, familiar and comforting and like  _ home _ . 

He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t follow Sapnap as he walks away, presumably to his own house. He doesn’t feel mocking in the gravel that digs into his skin from pressure.

RIP

Clay Dream

Dear friend,

Loyal, proud, funny, 

and a fighter to the end.

⧫ ⧫

↖_____↗

1999-2020

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> TUT
> 
> I wrote this a while ago and it is only now getting light so some aspects might seem old to the storyline.
> 
> Comments, compliments, complaints, and criticisms are always welcomed and encouraged! (Also, if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes please tell me!)
> 
> My socials:  
> Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/roller_jason/  
> Tumblr: https://rollerjason.tumblr.com  
> Twitter: https://twitter.com/RollerJason1
> 
> ~RollerJason <3


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